


A Lesson in Birdsong

by AniPendragon



Category: Ever After High, Ever After High Series - Shannon Hale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, headcanons abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniPendragon/pseuds/AniPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparrow Hood was never meant to exist. He was a blight, an amalgamation, a fairy tale that went against the Storybook of Legends. But he did, regardless of what the book thought was possible, and he made the best of the hand fate had played him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Birdsong

**Author's Note:**

> Written June 29th, 2015.
> 
> A character study on Sparrow Hood filled with headcanons about the EAH universe. Contains allusions to both the show and to the books, and is mostly canon compliant with both. There's more fic to come regarding these headcanons, so stay tuned.
> 
> Comments are appreciated.

Sparrow Hood was never meant to exist. Days could pass without this thought crossing his mind, but inevitably it would return in some form or another. A thrilling statement of rebellion by Raven Queen, or a scoff from Apple White as she tried (and failed) to understand the rebels were the most common triggers. But sometimes he’d simply be sitting by the lake with Duchess, strumming his guitar, and the sheer _wrongness_ of his existence would hit him, an unexpected punch to the gut.

No, Sparrow Hood was never meant to exist. That’s not to say Robin Hood should have never had a son – that was destiny, or so it was said. Carrying on fairy tales meant having children.

It wasn’t Robin Hood that was the problem. It was his mother.

Sparrow didn’t know her name, nor did his father. That had been lost when they’d burned the pages of her story and used it as kindling for her own pyre. Sparrow had been a baby at the time, but some nights he swore he heard her screams in his sleep. She cried out for him to run, and Sparrow, a child in these dreams, always did, and he always took his father with him.

Music kept them connected, Sparrow knew that. His voice was his only link to his mother and when he sang – properly _sang_ , not the off-key notes he played in front of others – the world itself seemed to bend to his will. Water danced, winds howled, and the fish watched, mesmerized. It was magic. Proper Ever After magic.

Of course, that meant finding a place to sing properly was difficult. Especially with Sparrow at odds with the Merry Men. Half royal and half rebel, he hid his proper voice from them and instead kept to a slightly off-key voice instead. Not that they seemed to notice.

Nor did anyone seem to notice the fact that Sparrow never spoke of his mother, or mentioned Maid Marian (who was supposed to be his mother, according to the Storybook of Legends. But how much could a fake book be trusted, after all?).

It was on a cold day, just before school holidays began, that Sparrow reflected on all this, and in his reflecting he strummed his guitar, humming quietly to himself.

“And there’s no happily ever after…,” he sang, trailing off. There was movement on his left, and Sparrow turned to see Cerise Hood walking toward him through the snow. Her winter garb was trimmed with snow-packed fur, and Sparrow shook his head. She’d been running again. Most likely with the wolves.

“You’re not bad,” said Cerise, a wolfish smile spreading across her face. Sparrow’s lips twitched and he plastered on his best grin. Shredding on his guitar, he slid across the ice to Cerise, ignoring his now-damp shoes.

“Thank you!” he sang – off-key just to watch her squirm. Cerise stalked off, muttering about “inconsiderate jerks”. Sparrow smirked. That was cruel. Especially given her hearing. But then, he wasn’t supposed to know about that, was he?

And so the school holidays passed much the way he expected. Raven being a rebel, Apple being a royal, the school caught in the middle of what was either the greatest love story or greatest war story to ever mark Ever After. And maybe it was both, if the way Cupid stared at the two fighting roommates was any indication.

Sparrow, unlike many others, couldn’t go home over the holidays, not when tensions were high with his father. Robin Hood had lost most of his memories of his wife, but not the knowledge of why, and his fear that Sparrow’s rebellion would cause Robin Hood to lose his only son painted every room the two were in together.

It was enough to drive anyone up the wall and into the sky, but Sparrow did not have wings to fly, and so he simply avoided his father and his incessant chirping.

So instead he spent his days walking the snow covered school grounds, finding food for the animals that had forgotten to hibernate and hiding from anyone who wanted to talk. Ashlynn eventually convinced him to help her feed some baby squirrels, and, for once, winter passed quickly for Sparrow.

The end of winter also marked the day his mother died, if his dreams and his father’s vague memories were anything to go by. But there was no gravestone for his mother, because she no longer existed, nor had she ever. So Sparrow laid the flowers by the lake when Duchess wasn’t around, and sang a lullaby he imagined his mother had sung for him. And he cried as he sang and tried not to miss a note. He watched the fish and the water and the ice dance around him, felt the magic in the air, but still nothing of his mother.

And he left the lake, tear tracks frozen on his face and guitar slung across his back and voice hoarse from singing in the deep, dark cold.

He pretended he was fine. That he didn’t have a mother. Or that she was some unnamed Maid Marian. And no one was the wiser. Nor did they ask which was the truth.

In the springtime he took to spending more time with Duchess, mainly because the Merry Men were fighting again and Duchess was upset over messing up a chance to date Alistair Wonderland. Sparrow debated telling her it was pointless, that Alistair was as enamored with Bunny as Bunny was with him, but experience told him Duchess didn’t care.

She was a rebel. She was a villain. She just wanted her own happily ever after. And really, Sparrow couldn’t blame her for that.

So instead he listened to her rant and pretended not to notice the way her honks grew more and more frequent. He watched her dance across the water and played songs to match her feet. He helped her sneak things into Apple White’s room in a desperate attempt to steal her happily ever after.

But it was all for naught. Duchess ended up in detention, back to where she started. Apple ended up sitting with the Royals, where she belonged. And Sparrow was alone again at the lake, strumming his guitar and singing a song that wouldn’t leave him alone.

“And there’s no happily ever after, if you’re living as a curse. There’s no true love’s kiss or fairy tale, it’ll only make it worse. There’s no prince or princess Charming, nor any magic in the air. There’s no happily ever after...” He sighed. “No matter how much you care.” His fingers fell from the guitar, half calloused and half blistered.

“Not bad.” Sparrow turned. Daring Charming leaned against a tree behind him, crown askew and jacket tossed over one shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow at Sparrow.

“Hey Daring,” said Sparrow.

“Why don’t you sing like that more often?” asked Daring. He sat down next to Sparrow, head cocked to one side.

“Probably the same reason you don’t tell people you’re friends with the dragon you’re supposed to slay,” said Sparrow.

Daring chuckled. “Fair enough.” He shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

Companionable silence passed over the two. Sparrow stared at the water, watching the way the fish swirled in circles.

“No more once upon a time, no more permanent ink,” sang Sparrow quietly. The water swirled in the lake and lifted, following the notes of his voice as they stretched into the clouds. Orbs of water floated down into his hands, each one containing a fish.

Daring stared with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“How?” he asked.

Sparrow smiled. “My mom. She…”

“Was a fairy tale,” said Daring. He shook his head, grinning. “Which one?”

Sparrow rolled his hands and let the orbs drift back into the lake. “I don’t know.” The words hung in the air. “Her story was burned when I was baby.” He paused. “So was she.”

Daring sucked in a breath. “Ever after,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” said Sparrow, voice unexpectedly cracking. He swiped at his eyes. “I never even got to meet her.” His vision blurred. Daring slung an arm across his shoulders.

“Hey,” said Daring. “Keepers suck.”

Sparrow laughed bitterly. “You know you and Apple are the next storybook keepers, right?”

“Yeah,” said Daring, his lips twisted into a grimace. “But I’m nothing like Apple’s mother.”

“I hope not,” said Sparrow. “Or else I’ll be the next one with a pyre.”

Daring’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Never!” His voice echoed in the lake. Sparrow jumped.

“Sparrow I would never, ever do that to you. You’re my friend.” Daring gripped Sparrow’s shoulders. “You have nothing to worry about.” The panic lifted his voice a noticeable octave.

“I wish that was true,” said Sparrow. Daring slumped, hands sliding off Sparrow’s shoulders. He leaned back in the grass and stared at the sky. His crown tumbled to the ground, but Daring didn’t bother to pick it up. The two were silent. Sparrow’s words hung between them.

“Sing me something,” said Daring after a time. “Please,” he added. Sparrow smiled and picked up his guitar. His fingers strummed absently until he found his voice. And as his music filled the clearing, the lake began to dance, and Daring kept watch so that Sparrow could finally, _finally_ sing properly.

Sparrow Hood was never meant to exist. He was an amalgamation of two fairy tales. One missing half their memories, and the other burned to “cleanse” the world. But burning the tale hadn’t taken the magic of Sparrow’s mother from him. And every time he sang, he was grateful for that.

Raven Queen had not started the rebels, no matter what the school thought. Sparrow was born a rebel. He would die a rebel. And that death, no matter what Daring said, would be sooner than he wanted.

Because people like him threatened the safety of Ever After and the rules that supposedly kept everyone safe. The Grimm brothers would have him and his remaining fairy tale burned if they knew what he was. But trusting Daring came easily, as it always had.

Someday he hoped the world would reflect this clearing – where the words royal and rebel meant nothing and music could bridge even the largest gaps. But that day, if it existed, was a long way off, and Sparrow might not have lived to see it.

But some day, no matter the circumstances, he would hear his mother sing. Whether somewhere far beyond the veil or here, in Ever After. Someday he would know her voice.

And that was enough to keep him going.


End file.
